


Relief

by twtd



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twtd/pseuds/twtd





	Relief

He faced into the rising sun, felt the meager warmth on his exposed chest and arms. His breath clouded in the winter air; the light film of sweat in the hollows of his collarbones tried to freeze, would have frozen had his skin not been so warm. His sudden stillness contrasted sharply with his previous ritualistic movements. The curved sword in his hand vibrated, perhaps more than could be accounted for by its sudden stop.

 

He despised the cold, felt it acutely, yet he would not disrupt his routine by moving indoors. He would not allow his father to further disrupt his life. The man was dead; he should have no such power.

 

It was that death, and another, that forced him to endure the cold. He reached up with his free hand and touched the scar that covered his left eye. He felt the deformed skin, knew that it would be bright red, redder than it normally was. It was unnaturally smooth under his fingers, unnaturally tight. He pulled at it distorting his vision. When he let go, his vision was still blurred, his face marked by his anger, shame and grief.

 

With no preamble, he flung away the sword and crumpled to the ground. He did not hear himself cry out, or see the sword blade buried in the side of a nearby tree. He was almost insensate to his own pained sobbing as he held his head in his arms, buried his head into his knees. He cried as the boy that he had never allowed himself to be. He now felt the cold only as a burning in his lungs, and he remembered another time when his lungs had burned, when the very air around him had pulled and grasped at his flesh. Tears soaked into his pants and dripped from his chin; they hit the ground, melting the snow in perfect, interconnected circles.

 

His lamentations covered the sound of her boots breaking through the layer of frost that covered much of the surrounding snow. The hand on his shoulder was that of a ghost, and did nothing to stop his sobs. The arms that held him were not real, could not be. His breath was coming in short, quick gasps, syncopated with the way he rocked himself back and forth. Yet, she continued to hold him, murmuring into his ear, knowing that he could not hear her. He was speaking now, incoherent pleas for her not to leave him. She tightened her hold and interrupted his movement. He half turned, wrapping his arms around her, pushing his face into the curve of her neck. He clung to her as though she was life itself, as though she was salvation.

 

And she cried too, silently, calmly, as if in echo of his pain, as if by doing so, she really could grant him relief.


End file.
